


Hollow

by niawen



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Angst, Gen, Spoilers, self reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 13:23:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1689884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niawen/pseuds/niawen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor is too young to carry the burdens of his life around.  But then, how old would you have to be to shoulder the weight of death and isolation that comes from being an Assassin without pain?  Self reflective, rambling drabble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hollow

The name ‘Connor’ held no meaning to Ratonhnhaké:ton for a long, long time. Achilles had given to him when he had been hardly more than a child, still willowy and a little gangly. The old man had underestimated Connor’s perceptivity, however, and he had quickly suspected that the name held some sort of significance to his mentor. Ratonhnhaké:ton had lived at the manor house on the hill for quite a while before he had bothered to study the gravestones- which of course, had revealed the exact nature of the name Achilles had chosen for him. The knowledge had made him suddenly sympathetic to the old man and his lost family for all of day before they were back to arguing like children. The worst of these early fights had ended with Ratonhnhaké:ton angrily reminding the old man that he wasn’t his son.

He’d regretted that fight. They had started over something stupid, certainly, but Ratonhnhaké:ton had a temper and a short fuse which combatted with Achilles’ equally short span of patience and sharp tongue. He’d spat the words out and had been momentarily shocked at the look on his mentor’s face- the nearly instantaneous shift from surprise to intense hurt and then equally intense anger. He’d fled into the forest to sulk for a time, smug in the power his words had displayed before something shameful began to fester in his stomach.

He was not so young any longer and Achilles had passed. The homestead- which many of the inhabitants had started simply referring to as Davenport- was still flourishing, but the house on the hill stood empty more often than not with Ratonhnhaké:ton attending to his work and the old man sleeping under the hill with his family. There had been too much death in Ratonhnhaké:ton’s young life already and he had learned quickly that to be an Assassin is to be fundamentally alone. He felt some measure of peace with Achilles’ passing, some semblance of serenity that dulled the grief… because certainly while they fought, Achilles had been a more active mentor and source of guidance than his own father had been. And Ratonhnhaké:ton knew perfectly well that he was stubborn and brash, though hopefully not as wildly naïve as he had been when he had first come to Davenport.

Ratonhnhaké:ton had survived much and one by one, those closest to him had been systematically removed from his life. His mother had been the first, though he supposed the that his lack of father during his childhood years might have been the first of his methodical, encroaching isolation. He had been close to his mother, and she had done a good job raising him. He had inherited her stubbornness and her strong will and her loss hurt him deeply- it still hurt him deeply. It was not the peaceful, painless end Achilles had. 

It had been horrible... easily the most traumatic experience of his life and that certainly said something as he had survived beatings, hangings, falls, being sliced to ribbons, shootings, and that one time a bear had managed to sneak up on him. There was no comfort in his mother's death, only memories of horror and pain as she lay trapped under the wrecked timber of the longhouse and screamed at him to escape the blaze.

Ratonhnhaké:ton had never quite gotten over Kanen:ton's death either... as they had been each other's closest friend until Ratonhnhaké:ton had left the village. He still remembered the consuming horror as he tussled and tried to argue with his friend and the culminating, hollow finality of his hidden blade diving into flesh. How similar it had been to his father's.

He had thought that Haytham might have been open to reason, able to see the truth and purpose. He was certainly intelligent and formidable and Ratonhnhaké:ton knew he truly believed he was fighting for peace and safety. The peace they worked towards helped them work together for a time, and Ratonhnhaké:ton harbored a quiet hope that perhaps after they had managed their shared goals, Haytham would realize that his son was right... Ratonhnhaké:ton was at a disadvantage, having never been born or bred for either Order. He could see their feuding and rivalry from a detached viewpoint, could see the senseless violence and prejudice that had chased both societies from the beginning it seemed. Ratonhnhaké:ton could not claim to be particularly loyal to the Assassins, though his loyalty had been more solidified as he carved his way through enemies and dissenters and Templars and plots. In the end, however, he questioned the Assassins' motives, as he had with Achilles' insistence that Haytham and Lee and the rest of them had to die... but in the end, Haytham did have to die. 

And, naturally, this was how Ratonhnhaké:ton found himself alone again.


End file.
